


Signature

by TulePubPirate



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Corporate Legal Assholery, Dysfunctional Family, Elena's Father, Gap Filler, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Military Families, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23819413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TulePubPirate/pseuds/TulePubPirate
Summary: "Everyone with family in the military knew what it meant when Shinra showed up with that folder. It didn’t matter which department, it didn’t matter which messenger. The knock, the officer, the folder--they all meant the same thing. The look on Tseng’s face only confirmed it."When Turks die, it's not as simple as just sending the body home for a funeral. There are loose ends to tie up. Loose ends like family members.
Relationships: Elena & Gun | Emma (Compilation of FFVII), Elena & Tseng (Compilation of FFVII)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	Signature

It was a pretty average December morning in the Sector 6 slums. Kids were already meeting up in groups outside to celebrate the start of the weekend, adults were getting a head start on the day’s errands. And, based on the distinctly audible angry yelling coming from their house, Sarge and his daughter Elena were up and making breakfast.

“Who fucking cares when I come back on a goddamn _ Friday? _ The fuck do I need to be home for? To watch you pass out on the couch and start snoring?” 

“You come the fuck home when I  _ tell you _ because this is my  _ goddamn house _ , and my  _ goddamn rules! _ I don’t give a shit if you don’t agree--you do what I say because it’s a fucking  _ order! _ I don’t need my kid wandering around in the middle of the night, doing god knows what--”

_ “I was at work!” _ Elena practically threw the skillet she’d just finished cooking eggs in into the sink with a deafening clang. “How many times do I have to tell you! _ I was at work! I was at work! I was at work!” _ She snatched a fork from the silverware drawer and began angrily shoving breakfast into her mouth. The faster she ate, the sooner she could just skip this whole stupid arguement and leave. 

“Throw shit again in my house, and see if I don’t throw you right out of it! I’m not telling you again!”

She rolled her eyes at her father and stuffed every last bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth at once, before standing up to dump her plate in the sink as she chewed. Unfortunately, her mouth being full meant Sarge had an open mic. 

“I’m getting sick and tired of your attitude! If you think you know everything and you wanna go pay your own fucking bills, and buy your own fucking groceries, then be my fucking guest, but until then when I tell you to be back before midnight, then I expect your ass to be  _ in this house _ before midnight!” A knock sounded at the front door, drawing Elena’s attention away from Sarge and his same old tirade. She quickly swallowed the rest of her food and moved to go answer it. “Next time see if I don’t change the goddamn locks and let you find a fucking alley to sleep in; maybe then you’ll appreciate the nice fucking roof I put over your head! Elena,  _ are you walking away from me?” _

Elena whirled back to him, fuming. “I am answering the  _ fucking door! _ Ugh!” She stomped through their tiny living room and threw open the door. A familiar silhouette stood there, backlit by the sunlamps. Black suit. Handgun. Forehead mark. Frown. But it wasn’t Tseng’s imposing figure or serious, stormy demeanor that made Elena balk at seeing him on their doorstep. Sure, it was a surprise, and surprise visits from Turks were never good. But Elena knew exactly how  _ not good _ this particular visit was when her eyes zeroed in on the thin red folder tucked under Tseng’s arm. 

Everyone with family in the military knew what it meant when Shinra showed up with that folder. It didn’t matter which department, it didn’t matter which messenger. The knock, the officer, the folder--they all meant the same thing. The look on Tseng’s face only confirmed it.

Elena slammed the door back in the Turk’s face before he could say anything, immediately turning on her heel. “It’s for you,” she choked out at Sarge, ducking her head and practically sprinting up the stairs to her bedroom. She walked down the hall lined with framed photographs, through the door, past the wardrobes, one open and overflowing, the other closed tight, mostly empty. Past the two twin beds, one messy and one made. Over to the window overlooking the alley next to the house. She could hear the sound of her father hurrying to open the door, Tseng’s soft, indistinct voice, chairs in the kitchen scraping against the linoleum floor as the two men sat down. The knock, the officer, the folder.They only meant one thing:

Emma was killed in action.

It was true that her sister had been gone for a while now. Over a month, in fact. So yeah, Elena had assumed whatever mission Emma was assigned to was something big. She sat in front of the window, unsure where to go. She didn’t want to head back downstairs to join what was happening there, but she didn’t want to slip out the window and be surrounded by the bustling city either. So she just hovered, hands gripping the windowsill, until a rapping on the open bedroom door called her attention. Sarge stood there, his mouth a thin tight line, his eyes hard.

“Come downstairs, Elena. There’s…” he hesitated for a moment, before hardening up again, pulling out his Instructor Voice. “You need to sign some papers.” 

He turned around without waiting for her, so she just quietly followed after him. Tseng was sitting in the chair she’d been eating at just a minute ago, his face grim. The folder was open on the table in front of him, a small pile of papers fanned out around it, facing away from him. Sarge took his usual seat, leaving Elena to numbly slip into the third, the usually empty chair.

“Elena,” Tseng began, seeming to take a monumental effort to look at her, “your sister--”

“I know.” She cut him off. “You don’t have to spell it out. I know why you’re here.”

Tseng nodded once in understanding. The three of them sat quietly for a moment; the unsaid words hanging thickly over them, until Tseng sighed and seemed to steel himself, his manner becoming brisk and professional. 

“My condolences, however, I’m afraid I cannot leave you to your grief until you’ve both read and signed a few forms.” He picked up a pen, using it to gesture to the papers on the table, marking a small x where Elena needed to add her signature next to her father’s. “This one is to confirm that you have positively identified and claimed possession of the body. This one is to confirm that you have seen the death certificate issued by the coroner, which I have here,” he tapped another paper, still tucked in the folder, “and have no questions with regard to cause of death. This one is an agreement that you shall refrain from speaking, either publicly or privately, about any details you may know regarding Emma’s work with the Company, beyond what is already publicly available. These are--”

“Hang on!” Elena almost wanted to laugh. She looked at Tseng incredulously. “So we’re not actually getting a fucking body? Seriously?”

“Elena,” Sarge warned, but she ignored him, reaching over to grab the death certificate and wave it in both of their faces.

“That’s what this means, right? Unless you dragged the corpse along with you to lay out on the couch.”

“Elena.”

“What else is in that folder, huh? A hush money check? Recommendations for fake caskets?”

“Elena! For God’s sake, please.” Sarge dragged his hands down his face, closing his eyes tight, his shoulders shaking a bit “For once I need you to stop trying to argue. Just this once.”

Tseng seemed to falter for a moment, but quickly collected himself. “As a matter of fact,” he said, a bit of a bitter twist to his tone, “I already gave your father the severance payment for Emma’s services, and her pension information. And,” he pulled a plastic evidence bag out of the folder. It was labelled  _ Burke, Emma  _ with a few small papers inside. “We have provided you with the paperwork and receipts necessary to show that Emma has been cremated, for your records.” He slid the bag towards Sarge, who did not touch or look at it. “Just so that there aren’t any loose ends that might make things...more difficult for you.” 

Elena looked at Tseng for a moment, trying to figure out what he was really thinking. If he could really be this calm, walking in here with a pile of affidavits and forgeries. He looked tired, and uncomfortable, like he’d bitten into something bitter and was trying not to let it show. Maybe he was just as numb and disbelieving as she was at that moment, also unsure exactly what in the hell he was doing here, in this grubby little kitchen, under the flickering fluorescent light, sitting at Elena’s spot at the table. She glanced back at the death certificate. Cause of death was listed as three gunshot wounds to the chest. She dug through the other papers, finding a report--Emma was ambushed by AVALANCHE terrorists, and was shot in the line of duty. Valiantly dying to protect Midgar. Gross.

She sighed and picked up the pen, scribbling her name on all the designated spots. Tseng gathered them up with care, tucking them back into the folder. Closing it. Letting his hand rest flatly on top. 

“There’s one more thing I’ll need, before I can leave you be, I’m afraid.” Tseng’s tone--braced as if readying for resistance--made both Elena and Sarge look up at him. “I’ll need to do a search of the premises. To make sure Emma didn’t leave anything behind. Anything we might need, or that need to be...secured.” 

Sarge closed his eyes and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Of course,” he said. “Go ahead, it’s fine.”

Tseng bowed his head as he stood from the table, quietly thanking them before heading upstairs, no doubt planning to start with Emma and Elena’s bedroom. Elena stood up and made towards the stairs to follow him.

“Elena, just leave him be. Don’t cause trouble.” The words came out without any real heat or effort behind them. Her father was on autopilot, still sitting with his arms crossed, his foot tapping furiously the only sign he was upset. Elena just ignored him, quietly climbing the steps and peering into her room, where Tseng was already checking the back of Emma’s wardrobe for any secret compartments. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, watching him move on to methodically checking the books left on the nightstand by her bed.

“There’s a loose floorboard under the bed,” she said, just quiet enough that she knew her voice wouldn’t carry down the hall. “The money in there is mine, though. I took the chance to take all the better hiding spots for myself, once she left.” Tseng nodded, pushing aside the pristine bed and running his hands across the floor until he found the mentioned cache. He carefully pulled it open, raising an eyebrow at its contents.

“That’s a rather impressive stash for just part-time bar tips.”

“Every once in a while I might do a free match over at the Coliseum, when school’s on break,” she shrugged. “Maybe.” Tseng checked through the small cache before he carefully placed the floorboard back into place. While he was dragging the bed back into position, Elena walked past him over to the window. She pulled it open, and stepped onto the sill, ducking her head to fit through the frame. There was a big gutter pipe along the outer wall, just strong enough to let Elena use it to climb up onto the roof. There was a chimney that had long-since been blocked off, which meant the little cardboard giftbox tucked inside it was safe and sound. Elena grabbed it, and slid back in through the window, where Tseng was standing, watching.

“Her journal,” Elena said, holding out the box. “Don’t know if there’s anything in it you’d care about though.”

“Thanks.” Tseng reached his hand out, but before he could grab it, Elena pulled it back out of reach. He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.

“Is she really dead?” Elena asked, voice barely a whisper. Tseng didn’t say anything, just held her stare. He kept his expression unreadable, but there was an intensity in it that seemed to be trying to tell Elena something. She was pretty certain she knew what the message was.

“Nevermind.” She handed him the box with her sister’s journal and turned to leave. “I don’t wanna know.”

She went downstairs, started putting on her shoes, and left without a word, sprinting all the way through the streets to her gym. She spent the whole day there furiously training. If she seemed to scream extra loud with thrown punch or kick, if there seemed to be more than just sweat streaming down her face, well. No one was there to see it.

_ Even if she isn’t really gone, does that make this any better? She’s still dead to you either way. _

_ ___________________ _

  
  


The funeral was scheduled for the end of the week, and Sarge was determined to see it through without delay, no matter how many terrorist threats were hitting the city. First one reactor was bombed, then a second, and then the entire Sector 7 plate dropped, stopping all train service up to the plate, and thus to the Academy where the service was supposed to be held in three days. Elena listened to him argue for almost an hour on the phone with Public Safety, finally managing to berate them into getting a chopper to shuttle them both topside for the day. 

She was all decked out in black, hair down and a bit mussed from the ride up. Sarge was pacing all over the gym, shaking hands with the other instructors, fussing with the flowers, popping in and out for smoke breaks almost every five minutes. There was a small line of acquaintances paying respects by the urn, set out on a table with a spray of flowers and silks and photographs. They were mostly current and former Academy students who couldn’t stay long, considering the current state of emergency. It was by no means an emotional event--most of the mourners were too emotionally and physically drained by the recent massacre to get teary-eyed over one Turk. Sarge was keeping himself from crossing over the verge of tears by just keeping his mouth shut. If he didn’t say anything, no one would hear his voice break. He and Elena seemed to be instinctively avoiding each other, like they knew the only way they were going manage to get through the day without blowing up at each other was to just keep to their own half of the room. 

Elena just felt useless--standing around in her kitten heels and pantyhose while everyone else was going out and helping around the city. There was a little bit of comfort in knowing that Emma would have also found all this fuss annoying and unproductive. It was ridiculous; all these people, coming to say goodbye to a big fancy jar that might as well have been filled with dirt. It was an effort not to audibly grind her teeth every time someone said “I’m sorry” and hugged her.

The funeral was starting to wrap up when Elena finally spotted a tell-tale black suit enter the room. The Turks had been notably absent the entire day. Even with the recent attacks, Elena had been certain she’d see at least a few of them, if only for a quick minute. Instead, only Tseng appeared, strolling in looking exhausted despite his steady posture and polite smile. 

Elena watched him go and shake her father’s hand, walk up and pay respects to the “body,” and then make his way along the edge of the room until he was standing next to her, looking out over the proceedings.

“Just you, huh?” Elena asked, crossing her arms.

“We’re stretched a bit thin at the moment.” 

“I’ll bet.”

“It’s worse than you know.” Tseng looked over at the table, at the portrait of Emma sitting there, like he thought she might be looking back. “I’m afraid I’m not actually here to pay my respects.”

Elena frowned at that. What else could have brought him here, of all places, when half the city was on fire or collapsing? 

“Elena, would you mind walking with me, for a moment?” He didn’t wait for a reply before leading the way out of gym. Elena had to jog to catch up to where he was holding open the door to the grounds for her. As she was walking past him, she caught him looking over her head, shaking his head firmly, but almost apologetically. Elena turned to follow his gaze only to lock eyes with Sarge, on the far side of the room. He looked like he’d been frozen mid-step, as if he was going to come after them. He had one hand reached out, his whole being screaming at her not to go, to come back, to listen. She turned her back on him and kept walking.

“So what is it?” Elena asked. Tseng quickly fell in step beside her, and began subtly leading them towards the parking lot.

“I told you the Turks are stretched thin. At this exact moment we only have two operatives capable of working in the field.” Elena’s eyes widened at that. Exactly what in the hell could have happened to take almost every Turk out of action? And all in the span of a few weeks at most. “Or,” he continued, pulling an ID badge out of his jacket pocket and holding it out as an offering, “three operatives, should you accept.”

Elena picked up the badge and looked at it. It was an employee ID. For the Department of Administrative Research. For her. 

“Paperwork has already been filed and approved for you. I need to know if you still want the job now, because you’ll be deployed immediately.” Tseng stopped and turned towards her, looking down at her with an expression like steel. “I don’t want to pressure you, but we don’t have a lot of time and we have even less options, Elena. What will it be?”

Elena thought of the phony urn sitting in the building behind them. She thought of the coroner’s report still laying out on the kitchen table back home, next to a bag of faked receipts. She thought of a train, filled with Ravens, and herself, reduced to a bargaining chip in someone else’s fight. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a building collapsing rumbled through the air—pieces of Sector 7, still collapsing days later.

Elena clenched her fist around the ID, and looked at Tseng, chin tilted up in determination. 

  
“ _ Yes _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> Not pictured: Tseng, down to one other employee, hasn't slept in days, just helped drop the Sector 7 plate and snatch Aerith, told by his new President Rufus he's gotta go Sephiroth-chasing, grabbing his coat and telling Rude he's gotta go poach a teen from a funeral real quick brb
> 
> I made the timeline of events a bit more narratively perfect than what would probably actually happen, but -shrug emoji-


End file.
